Ananue Aman
by MidnightOpal
Summary: The scene is set in a world where the residents of a planet are segregated based solely on the color of their eyes. Impending danger comes from above and internal skirmishes soon turn bloody. Once an important figure is murdered, all hell breaks loose.


**AN: **While I know I already have two unfinished stories out, I have a valid reason for creating this one. My stupid Dell is on the fritz again (that piece of crap), and the charger doesn't work (AGAIN) thus my life is devoid of my previous two works. This one will have to suffice during the time that my laptop decides to be stubborn.

In this story I'm not going for the usual coupling that everyone seems so hell-bent on using in almost every single story. I'm trying to spice things up here. Don't expect normalcy is all I'm saying. As well, it's not going to be centered around one character, I usually try my best to include everyone with a proportionate amount of time. The whole story seems to be heading down one long, _long_ road, which is why I've decided to split it into phases: Here's chapter one of phase one. Hope you enjoy.

**Ananue Aman**

**Phase One: Ragnarok**

**Chapter One: **_**Color Codes**_

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sailor Moon.

In correspondence to economic and social vitality, Shangri-La ruled over the other quadrants of Planet Aman. It flourished with life and bustling work and had the second largest population on the entire planet. Their success partially stemmed from their phenomenal ruling system but also from the institutions that the ruling party of Shangri-La implemented within its state. Their economic gain soared mostly due to the insertion of slavery within their society.

Now, when one mentions the ruling system of Shangri-La, phenomenal is meant in a sense not that it ruled with fair and justness or even with malice, but that the people were well ordered and the quadrant had the lowest crime rate out of the four. This was much to say compared to the other three quadrants. Shangri-La had one flaw, it was a flaw that went unnoticed by many, by the ignorant and uninformed but bled into the lives of those it infected with a sure and steady flow. This flaw spurred on rebel forces who resided within the forest that circled the entire quadrant and separated it from the two quadrants next to it. Shangri-La's flaws came from the division of its residents. The entire population was characterized and segregated based on the color of their eyes.

The system was created by the first King of Shangri-La. It was also under his reign that Planet Aman received it's one true source of shelter. The entire populace was protected under an enormous shield meant to guard them from the beginning of their days…

At the very commencement of life on the planet, the ruler of Shangri-La fell into an enormous debt. This debt was owed to prince Vadran-Tao Mhan and his cohort of emulators from planet Ekal-Se. The ruler of Shangri-La, King Hasha, was not in economic stability and was indebted much to the irate prince. When prince Vadran-Tao presented himself directly in front of the king, demanding his money, King Hasha had nothing more to do than to accept the consequences and admit that he was unable to pay off the debt. Vadran-Tao gave him four days to compile his money and pay what was due. King Hasha knew that there was no way he could possibly obtain the appropriate amount in four days. As a result he panicked; taxes rose to extreme and ruthless amounts and all other payoffs were halted until the deemed crisis had been adequately dealt with.

Just when King Hasha was on the brink of exposing his country to extreme corruption, a quiet, young man appeared at the castle, dressed only in a dusty and ragged cloak. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of orange, like a mango, an orange on the verge of yellow. With his banal boots hugged and worn on his feet he walked into the castle and proposed that the king merely let prince Vadran-Tao and his emulators come in an attempt to destroy Shangri-La. Astounded at the audacity of the dusty man before him and enraged at his proposition, King Hasha demanded that he leave his country immediately and never return or else he be hanged. The man merely continued his proposition by stating that he himself would not destroy, but banish Vadran-Tao, for the prince's power was far too great for anyone on planet Aman. In addition, he promised a shield to be placed around the planet to protect its inhabitants from any stray emulators.

Appalled and aghast at this man's ludicrous proposal, the king asked just who this man thought he was. The man threw back his hood and in a steady and confident voice responded… I am—

"The Messiah." The woman who had been telling the story huffed and crossed her arms. The listener, well, partial listener, gave a petite yawn behind her hand before continuing with her interruption. "I know, Madam Alik, everyone knows the story of the Messiah, even me. It's like it was engraved into my brain at birth," the young girl mumbled, giving a heaving sigh and resting her chin in her perched palm once more.

The woman frowned. "Yes, yes, but princess, it is impertinent of you to interrupt me in the middle of a class. It's unbecoming of a lady and of the queen you'll one day become." The teacher placed her hands on her hips and stood. "Now as a result, recite to me the multiple class statuses and colors." Her pupil groaned. "In order!" she commanded in response. "And sit up; stop slouching like a lazy girl! What would your mother think if she saw you right now?"

The princess sat up immediately, back rigid like a board and chin held high in mock arrogance. At the mention of her mother a small quirk came to her brow and her eyes hardened in determination. "From highest to lowest or lowest to—"

"I would not be persnickety right now if I were you."

The princess grinned. "From bottom up it is then." With a deep breath she closed her eyes and folded her hands neatly in her lap. "Brown," she stated first, "descendants of Caracan, slaves raised specifically to work and till the fields as well as servants of the Blue."

"Very good."

The girl smiled contently. "Black. Rebel forces stationed in the entirety of the Shangrin forest, acting upon the wishes and beliefs of the Old Tan-Ma. They are against our society and people and are preparing to wage an epic war amongst us."

"And?"

The princess blinked and looked up to her teacher. "Um… oh, none of their eyes are truly black. Once you've become one of them, your eyes reflect the very depths of the assembled group."

"Nicely done."

"Purple," she continued, though now more hesitant than before, only partially aware of the brown eyes surrounding her and their frequent glances. "They follow under the symbol of two crossing snakes and the goddess Manta of guidance, foresight, and healing. These are roamers and healers, the Wanderers who shy from our society yet still abide quietly by its rules," she finished softly, looking up to Madam Alik for approval. When her teacher nodded she proceeded.

"Green. Offspring of a Messiah and a Blue, only two known in existence. Highly temperamental and shunned from society for their preposterous behavior and unlikely existence. They only exist because of one Blue or Messiah breaking the law and balance of Shangri-La." The young princess paused a moment and brought her hesitant eyes to her teacher. "But Madam Alik, I've lived in the palace my entire life and I've never seen a Green. Is it really true that they exist?"

Madam Alik's expression became stern and she placed a slightly wrinkling hand to her chin. "The Green's are hidden amongst the browns, princess, for they are no better than those putrid and dirty slaves."

The princess clenched her fingers tighter within her lap, seizing this opportunity and opening to Madam Alik's feelings to extract more hidden and lesser-known information. "Madam Alik…" she said gently, opening her mouth to speak when she was cut off.

"Now continue, or no double chocolate cake," her instructor advised.

The princess frowned. "But I…" she blinked for a moment. Raising her eyes, a glitter now about them, and with her hands clasped in a dreamy stance to her breast, she sighed. "You got me double chocolate cake? However did you pull it off?" she questioned, mouth salivating just at the thought of it.

Madam Alik smiled. "I won't have pulled anything off if you don't finish what I told you to do," she said as sternly as she could, only partially put off by her princess's dreamy gaze. Not to mention the tiny bit of drool she saw peaking from the corner of her mouth.

Hand to her forehead she saluted. "Right!" Clearing her throat and placing her hands in her lap once more, she proceeded to the final stages. "Blue!" she called out. "Royalty of all of Shangri-La and members of the higher class. They are descendants of Hasha the Great, who founded all of Shangri-La and created the Color System."

"And next?"

"Lastly is mango Orange," she smiled and couldn't help but hide a giggle at the twitch in her teacher's mouth. "The Messiah. Born from the light they exist to re-strengthen the barrier and protect us from the emulators. Now can I have my cake?"

"Not until you give me the very last one."

The princess frowned. Last one? She blinked. "Oh," her voice dropped an octave and her eyes fluttered to the ground. "Red," she almost whispered, "emulators who've somehow broken through the barrier or descendants of the god of war and hate, Eval."

Madam Alik tore her gaze from her young pupil for a moment in an instant of shame. She knew exactly how her princess felt about the Red's. The rage that flowed through her body was more than that of the average Shangrin person; it was like a lava stream of spite that burned away her pristine and jovial façade. The young girl, however, rarely acknowledged these feelings and the lava flow continued to build up behind a dam, a seemingly impenetrable wall that had been instilled within most of the Blue population's children at a young age. It was meant to keep the calm and composed features that all royalty were supposed to assume above the corrupted anger.

If the princess seemed so pure, beautiful, and kind, then why was this anger buried so deep within her? The tragic incident had happened about a year ago—

"Princess Serenity!"

The blonde girl's head snapped up and she turned elegantly on her seat, the glint in her eye dissipating for the moment. "Yes?" she asked politely, though the reservation in her voice was uncommon towards Browns.

The small servant blinked, seeming frozen for a moment. Then as if realization hit her, she bowed and placed her hands behind her back, a pink stain on her cheeks. "Y-your mother wishes to see you immediately."

Serenity closed her eyes and sighed. "Thank you, you are dismissed," she said, turning now to her teacher. "It looks like our lesson is cut short today, Madam Alik, I apologize," she said and stood, brushing and patting down the front of her dress. Flipping one pigtail over her shoulder, she clasped her hands in front of her and said, "Thank you, and good day."

"Tomorrow, princess, we'll breach the subject of the connection between Browns and Blues in association to economic and social attitudes," was Madam Alik's disheartened call after her. The older women sighed, only now thinking about the gray hairs peeking at the roots of her hair. Looking at the table her princess was sitting at, she grinned as she picked up the papers that Serenity had been messing with throughout the duration of her Messiah speech. Scribbled on corners were random doodles and squiggles that brought a tiny smile to the teachers lips. She had high hopes for princess Serenity. Perhaps one day she'd be the one to…

Serenity walked down the palace halls, tiny heels clicking rhythmically as she nodded her head and gave tiny curtsies to other Blues who acknowledged her. Her mind wandered as she stared out of a nearby window cut, the Acropolis of Shangri-La a pool of life. Houses on the Acropolis seemed tiny from the high towers of the palace and the intricate weaving of the Brown houses farther below seemed undersized and miniature. Serenity could hardly even see the people wandering on the Lower Level, as a matter of fact, she'd only seen the Browns that worked in the palace, their starched uniforms and downcast eyes.

The young princess sighed and pushed away from the window cut and continued down the steps towards the throne room, where she knew her mother would be. As the stairs wound around in a spiral, the window cuts revealed that she was coming closer and closer to the ground, though since the stairwell curled, instead of looking out on the Acropolis Serenity was faced with the fields. The green pastures were dotted heavily with Brown workers picking the harvests at the beginning of a long coming summer.

At an open door Serenity paused to watch their musical and steady rituals. She stepped out onto the hard ground, a crunching brown like the eyes of her servants beneath her almighty feet. They were engulfed in weed grasses, using skilled and calloused hands to perform practiced deeds in picking the needed crops and sifting through those that they reckoned bad. The nearest slave was an old woman, her gray hair, the texture of straw, pulled back into a scarf of vibrant colors and earthy shapes. Her tattered dress hung lazily from her shoulders, straight pinned and hardly flattering against her tiny body. It ran almost to her shifting feet, yellowed with age and caked in substances years old. The young princess's eyes softened as she looked at the old woman's weathered and leathery body. Prominent wrinkles and spots of age hid the swollen joints and pain for split moments before it appeared in her dark brown eyes at every hunch or reach for a ripened crop.

It wasn't her body or dress that captivated Serenity most, but rather the tune she heard emitted from the woman's dry and pale lips. It was smooth, melodious and flowed through her body like a hot tea down her throat, soothing, calm. The tune turned haunting and raised the hairs on Serenity's arms as she took another step towards the daunting and vast fields, watching as the woman crawled farther and farther into the green mouth of Mother Nature. The old woman continued to disappear into the weed grasses, the only remnant of her being there was the distant tune that floated through the air like dust in a gust.

_The toil builds the height of our all-seeing eyes,_

_Stars of forefathers still oversee._

_Evermore we go on, the future before us,_

_Liberation at forefront, we soon will be free..._

So lulled by the song, Serenity couldn't help but jump as there was a loud cry from her right. She pulled away from the weed grasses and her possessed feet dragged her towards a small shed at the front of the fields. It's rustic, yellow color and flaking bodice posed threat to her dainty palms as they pressed softly to a leaning doorway. She recognized the Slave Runners immediately, their dark pants and vests sticking out like reeds in a pond. The recognition, however, was blown away at the realization of the man they were handling. His shirt was long and his pants were cut off just below the knee, but again, it wasn't his dress that really caught her eye; it was his face. It glistened with the afternoon sweat and reflected his arms, covered in a bright sheen and tainted with stains of brown dirt. His hair flowed wavy just past his shoulders, a chocolate brown that matched his eyes and the smudge just beneath his cheek. His hands, which gripped the Slave Runner's pallid shirt (which now matched his face) were so crusted with dirt that it seemed his skin faded from a tanned bronze to a dark brown.

"That's ten!" The slave runner in his arms called, struggling to keep his voice composed under such duress. His feet flailed as the slave continued to lift him from the ground. Three more Slave Runners rushed into the small shed, skidding to a halt and raising hay in their wake. Two of them gripped the slave's arms in an attempt to pull him away from their fellow Slave Runner but their hands slid off of his arms like a child down a slide, due to the sweat. At second grip they connected and successfully pulled the slave's strong arms from their fellow member of staff. With little care they pushed the man to the center pole, his face connecting harshly with the unforgiving wood. The extra Slave Runner took the rope he'd been handed and tied the brown haired slave's hands together in front of him, locking him into a fatal position on his knees.

"Twenty five!" the once strangled Slave Runner barked, feeling at his neck angrily. "Grab the braid," he ordered one of the surrounding people, rolling up his sleeves as if preparing to do work in the fields himself. While there was a shuffling about in the back of the shed as a Slave Runner ran to fetch the needed item, Serenity turned her eyes back to the slave. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized that his piercing brown eyes were staring directly at her.

He was absolutely beautiful.

When the Slave Runner returned with 'the braid', Serenity was anxious to see what would happen. A black leather loop was handed to the first Slave Runner with his sleeves rolled up, and he let it roll to the ground. When the leather unraveled and hit the floor the Princess of Shangri-La now realized what a 'braid' really was. It was a whip. It was now that she panicked. Her trembling fingers pulled away from her scratchy hiding post and gripped the softness of her dress. What in the name of Planet Aman were they thinking of doing? Surely they weren't going to—

Serenity jumped as the Slave Runner ripped open the back of the slave's shirt, exposing the princess to a horror she'd never seen before, a twisted picture that burned in the back of her mind and left her body shaking. His back was covered in long, sharp scars, marring his skin and leaving it swollen in lines pink with pain. It left her feeling uncomfortable and a tightness came to her throat as she realized that his eyes still bore into her. It was as if he was holding her feet to the ground, preventing her from fleeing the commencing whipping.

The Slave Runner lifted the whip high into the hair in a dramatic fashion, momentarily blocking the sun from Serenity's view like an Armageddon at sunset. Like an executor ready to behead his prey, he brought the whip down in a resounding smack that fed an electric shock of pain trough the slave's body. His body jolted, despite his obvious desire to eradicate all signs of weakness. Though his body reacted, his eyes, unmercifully steadfast to hers, refused to show any twinge of sting from the whip. Again the whip came down, not only causing the slave's body to jolt but Serenity's as well. Her eyes welled with tears as he peeked out from behind his falling hair into her no longer pristine and uncorrupted blue eyes. He refused to let her go.

Again the whip came down. Then again, and again, this time drawing blood from the soft scars. His body still jolted with every hit, but his eyes remained strong— remained looking in hers.

_Let me go_, she cried within her head, bulging tears now threatening to fall. Her eyes snapped shut at the sound of the whip smacking against his skin and a torrent of salt water was unleashed from the corners of her eyes.

His eyes compelled her to watch.

_Please_, she begged, nails digging into her pale skin, leaving half moon marks on her palms. All she wanted was to remain ignorant, erase everything she'd witnessed and return to a life of not knowing what went on in the fields that surrounded her home, what went on beneath her very nose.

He watched her carefully. In a moment of decision he let her go and turned his head away.

Serenity took the opportunity and fled, running as fast as she could away from the scene, trying to erase the memories. Nevertheless, the vision of the beautiful man and his damaged skin materialized behind her eyelids every time they closed. It was a memory impossible to erase.

It was just as the slave had wanted.


End file.
